


Stumbling and Spinning

by nononoya



Series: Haikyuu!! Drabbles [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28839618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nononoya/pseuds/nononoya
Summary: "I can't protect you,"Bokuto gets injured during a game and Akaashi 'handles' it...
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: Haikyuu!! Drabbles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114670
Comments: 4
Kudos: 74





	Stumbling and Spinning

The MSBY Black Jackals were three points away from taking the third set and Akaashi was 3 sips away from finishing his second glass of wine. It’s not that he wasn’t paying attention, he definitely was, it’s just that MSBY was already projected to win this game handily and he’d seen his boyfriend play many, many, many times before. Bokuto was always impressive, and Akaashi is whole heartedly invested in his volleyball career, but if he was being honest with himself, approximately 30% of the reason he still comes to these matches is to hang out in the “Friends and Family” section of the audience (the other 70% is because Bo would probably throw a fit otherwise).

The MSBY Friends and Family section was a bright shining star in the rather intense world of dating a professional athlete. It was made up mostly of people in the exact same position he was; girlfriends, boyfriends, wives, husbands, siblings, parents. All people that had been watching their boyfriend/husband/brother/son play volleyball for their entire lives. And as exciting as the games are, which with this team is very exciting, the novelty tends to wear off after a while. Akaashi might feel bad about thinking that if he wasn’t certain that nearly everyone else who came to these games routinely, like he did, felt the exact same way. Even Kageyama Tobio, who manages to show up and cheer on Hinata nearly every time he’s not on the other side of the net, let’s his gaze drift from the court every now and again. 

“Shitty approach,” Tobio says in reference to one of his boyfriend's token jump spikes. 

Akaashi laughs, “Does Shoyo know you’re this much of a critic when he invites you to  
his games?” he nudges the setter with his elbow for good measure. 

“I thought that was why he was inviting me,” 

Akaashi searches the man's face for any amount of jest but finds none. Stifling a laugh he responds, “Tobio, what do you two talk about at home?” 

“All kinds of things, why?” 

Akaashi shakes his head with a smile, “No reason. I’m gonna go get another drink, you want anything?” 

“No thanks, I have practice in the morning,” 

He gives the setter a nod before pulling himself out of his seat. Tobio was nothing if not amusing. The two of them didn’t have much in common, besides both having been setters and both currently dating one of the three loudest MSBY starting players. Akaashi’s fairly certain they would’ve gotten along better in high school, if they had talked beyond training camps, back when Keiji took himself a bit too seriously, putting up that unemotional face for everyone except one loud, spiky haired ace. Tobio was similar in that regard, keeping most of his feelings under wraps, but the intent behind it was different. The detachment was simply a part of the younger man’s personality. Keiji’s was a wall. Was, being the key word. He’s taken the time to tear pieces of it down, something he owes entirely to Bokuto. 

Wow, those two glasses of wine were working against him tonight. The point was that, regardless, he and Tobio have a good time. 

Eventually Akaashi returns to his seat with his new glass of wine. Tobio is still watching intently, no doubt making a mental list of what to critique his boyfriend on later. “What’d I miss?”

“Match point, neither team’s been able to break away yet,”

Akaashi nods standing to get a better look, match point was always where things get interesting. He leans forward, refocusing on the court some three floors below. 

The rally was getting intense, two spikes from each side, all received and sent back over the net, each more rushed than the last. MSBY’s libero stops another, sending the ball to Miya. The setter was rushing to get back into position and consequently his set is off, a few centimeters closer to the net than it should be. A simple mistake, easily recovered from had Bokuto not already been in the air. With the realization that the ball isn’t where it normally is, the spiker attempts to readjust midair and hit the ball anyway.

Instead of a clean hit, as he’d intended, he swings his arm through the net, getting caught for a split second. That minuscule amount of time, that momentarily lapse in judgement is just enough to fuck up his landing. Rather than fall flat on his back the spiker attempts to catch himself, planting his left leg dangerously underneath the gravitational mass of muscle that was the rest of his body. From this high up Akaashi can’t quite make out which direction his knee twists in but he knows it’s probably not a normal one.

Bokuto’s had bad landings before, it comes with the sport, even at a professional level. Normally he gets up and shakes it off, because normally all that’s really hurt is his ego. Somehow, Akaashi knows this time is different. A thought confirmed when the spiker curls up and balls his hands into fists. This time, he’s actually hurt. 

“Oh shit,” Tobio says, standing to get a better look. 

Akaashi is frozen in place, heart beating so loud he can hear it pounding through his ears. He holds his breath with the rest of the arena, looking for a sign, any indication that this wasn’t what he thought it was.

_Get up, get up, please get up._

The rest of the team was stuck to the floor, unsure of what to do. What could they do? Bokuto doesn’t get hurt. Bokuto always gets back up. The referee blows a time out whistle, deafening in the silent arena, and in seconds the team medics are rushing to Kotaro’s side. 

Keiji feels dizzy, sick to his stomach, “I-is he… is he gonna…”

Tobio turns to Akaashi, shocked expression probably reflective of his own. “He’s gonna be fine,” it comes out hurried, uncertain, only adding to the heavy weighted worry turning up his insides. 

The trainers manage to roll Bokuto onto his back. His hands covered his face, chest heaving with labored breaths. Kageyama places a gentle hand on Akaashi’s shoulder, no doubt trying to steady him. Somehow, it makes him feel worse. The pair watches with a tense anxiety as the trainers talk to Kotaro. He doesn’t seem to react much, probably muttering things through his hands. One final question and the spiker shakes his head. He’s not getting up. 

Keiji sinks back into his chair, unsure of what to do with himself. Every nerve in his body was on edge, every instinct contradicting another, thousands of questions flashing through his mind. He can’t comprehend any of them, much less answer them. 

“Oh no,” He hears Tobio say amidst the mental spiral. 

A quick glance back down at the court reveals why. They were bringing out a stretcher. 

“I have to go,” he says frantically, bolting up from his seat

“Wait hold on just-” 

Keiji doesn’t catch the rest of the setter’s protests; he's already running towards the stairs. He left his bag, his phone, his wine, none of it mattered.  
He takes the steps two at a time, nearly tripping over his own feet, panicked thoughts punctuating every step. _Is he okay? Is he okay? Is he okay?_ He’s breathing heavy when he reaches the basement floor. Swinging a sharp right he sprints toward the direction of the locker room Bokuto had dragged him through so many times. The security guard sees him coming, but he’d left his pass in his bag. He doesn’t have time for this. 

“Sir you can’t-” 

Akaashi pushes past him and keeps running, something these shoes were far too expensive and uncomfortable for. He reaches the training room and his heart nearly breaks. 

Bokuto is laid out on the floor surrounded by trainers and medical professionals, the stretcher they’d used to carry him in a few feet away. His arms are covering his eyes but his mouth is exposed, and Keiji would recognize that lower lip tremble anywhere.

“Kotaro,” he forces out. It’s hoarse as he tries to hold back tears.

The spiker pulls his arms from his face, “Keiji?”

Before Akaashi can respond someone is grabbing his shoulder from behind, “You can’t be in here,” A couple of the other staff stands trying to block his view of the spiker.

“No no he’s fine, let him stay,” Bokuto calls out. Tentatively, the staff relents, allowing Akaashi to rush over and fall to his knees at his boyfriend’s side. 

“Kotaro,” 

He doesn’t respond, having put an arm back over his face. He offers the other to Keiji who takes it in both of his own. 

Akaashi can feel his whole body trembling. He does his best to steady himself, breathing in and out with purpose, attempting to shake off the impromptu exercise and willing every nerve in his body to settle down. It only makes him tremble more. He watches the trainers discuss what to do a few feet away. Did they already know what was wrong? Were they trying to figure out how to break the news? Would this be the last time Bokuto ever got to play? Would this be the end of his career? 

“Did you run down here in those shoes?” Bokuto says, voice calm somehow, unwavering. It’s just shocking enough to startle the shorter man out of his downward spiral. 

“I-I did,” 

He cracks a soft smile, “You must really care about me Keiji,” 

“Don’t be stupid,” 

The spiker squeezes his hand, Akaashi squeezes back. He was glad Bokuto was in a passable mood but he can’t shake the worry that's rooted itself in his chest, twisting sickeningly around his ribcage. If Bokuto wasn’t alive and breathing in front of him he’s fairly certain he’d be suffocating. 

“Bokuto we need to cut off your knee pad so we can get a better look,” one of the trainers says. 

“Alright,” 

Akaashi shuffles awkwardly out of the way, still clutching Bokuto’s hand. He watches as someone cuts apart one of the spiker’s signature knee pads with a pair of scissors. The skin underneath is swollen and red. 

“Can you bend it?” the trainer asks. 

“Mhm,” 

Slowly the man pushes Bokuto’s leg into bend. The spiker lets out a pained groan and squeezes Akaashi’s hand a bit too hard. The sound feels like a knife to the gut. 

Keiji sits quietly as they poke prod and question, watching their every move, trying desperately to determine some sort of conclusion from their facial expressions, never letting go of Kotaro’s hand. Eventually one of the trainers sits up, “Alright, I don’t think it’s serious yet,” 

“Yet?” Bokuto asks, pulling his arm away from his face. 

“Yet. It’s just a strain but you need to stay off of it for two weeks at least, otherwise it’s going to become a more consistent problem,”

“Stay off of it? So that means…”

“Limited walking, no practice,” _Oh no_. 

The spiker sits up at this, releasing Keiji’s hand as he does so, “Two weeks? But we’re right in the middle of the season!” 

“I know. But unless you want to cut your whole career a few years short, you need to let it heal.” 

He doesn’t argue with that, how could he? 

Only after he’s certain Bokuto wouldn’t collapse if he takes his eyes off of him does Keiji leave to retrieve his belongings. He takes the elevator this time. 

\--

The car ride home is quiet. 

They don’t really speak until Bokuto has successfully crutched his way into their shared apartment and winced his way onto the couch. 

“Did they win?” The spiker asks, staring at his wrapped leg. 

“Kotaro, I think you need to be more worried about yourself right now.” They both know that wasn’t the real question he was asking. The outcome of that game was obvious, injuries or not. What Bokuto really wanted to know was ‘Do they need me?’ Years later, and that insecure high school boy was still in there. Akaashi knew that better than anyone. 

“I need to shower,” he says. In the time it took to get his stuff from Tobio, who had been polite enough not to ask about the spiker’s condition, Bokuto had managed to change out of his uniform and into practice clothes, but he still hadn’t gotten a chance to actually clean himself. 

“You can’t stand Bo.” 

The man huffs, throwing his head back into the couch cushions. 

“I’ll draw you a bath,” Akaashi doesn’t wait for a response, instead he makes his way to the bathroom and starts the water. He knows he could be nicer about this, could be a bit softer in the way he spoke, Bokuto was the one who was injured after all, but the stiffness, the detachment, the wall, had built itself back up before he could stop it. And the ache in his chest that had started when Kotaro had hit the floor in the first place had rooted itself there, showing no sign of relenting. It was taking nearly all of his energy just to keep it together. 

After helping his boyfriend slip out of his clothes and lower himself into the bath, Akaashi had tried to leave, giving both Bokuto and himself some time to process. But the man had stopped him, grabbing him by the wrist.

“Stay, please,” 

So Keiji sat on the cold tile, still wearing his fancy outfit and expensive dress shoes, while the spiker scrubbed himself clean. Neither of them spoke, this is what Bokuto needed right now. But what does Akaashi need? He’s not really sure. Kotaro was mostly fine. A couple week break would be annoying for sure but he’d be alright. Still, Akaashi can’t shake this feeling that they’d gotten lucky. What would they do if this had been a career ender? If Bokuto couldn’t do the one thing he loved more than anything? Would Keiji even be able to help? Or would he have to sit and watch the inevitable descent? The thought makes his chest ache even more. 

“Keiji,” he looks up at Bokuto’s concerned face, “You’re overthinking again,” 

Akaashi furrows his brow and stands up. “I’m going to change out of these clothes, let me know when you’re ready to get out.” 

The tightness in the arches of his feet ease up as he steps out of his stiff, expensive shoes. God, he’s never wearing them again. Piece by piece he sheds his fancy clothes. He really only dresses up for meetings, parties, and Bokuto’s games. Normally he finds it fun, throwing on a snazzy get up and being a professional athlete’s arm candy for the night. Tonight though, it felt stupid. If he hadn’t worn those stupid shoes maybe his feet wouldn’t hurt so bad right now and maybe he would’ve gotten down those stairs just a second faster. But shoes or not it wouldn’t have mattered. There was nothing Keiji could’ve done to prevent what happened, and there’s nothing he could do to stop it from happening again. 

Getting Bokuto out of the bath was more trouble than it should’ve been. The spiker is pure muscle and Akaashi hadn’t lifted weights since high school. Eventually though, they get the man out of the tub, into pajamas and into bed. 

“Are you hungry?” Bokuto asks as Keiji finishes picking up the books they’d knocked off the nightstand in the process.

To be honest the idea of eating anything in his current state made Akaashi sick to his stomach, but he had a feeling Bokuto already knew that. “Are you?”

“I don’t wanna bother you too much,” 

“You’re not bothering me.”

Keiji returns to the room five or so minutes later with a hot plate of food and a bottle of painkillers. He sits on the end of the bed while his boyfriend eats. The ache is his chest hasn’t subsided, if anything it’s gotten worse. All of his questions, all of his worries had bubbled up into one horrible, persistent thought. It repeats itself over and over and over again until it’s spilling out into hot wet tears on his face. Before he can stop himself he’s crying. 

He hears the sound of a plate being set on the nightstand and feels the bed shift behind him. Within seconds one of those strong calloused hands is on his shoulder. 

“Keiji?” 

The shorter man turns and lets himself fall into Kotaro’s chest, cries turning into full body sobs. The spiker wraps his arms around him pulling him close. 

“Talk to me please,” 

“I-I can’t protect you,” Akaashi chokes out in between sobs.

He feels the man tense up around him; he lets him cry a bit more before responding “Keiji, you don’t need to protect me,” 

“I know that I just… I couldn’t do anything, I just watched it happen, I just watched you get hurt Bo. I just-” 

Bokuto tightens his grip around Keiji, trying to stop his frantic, verbal spiral. 

“I was so worried,” Akaashi sobs into his chest. 

“I know, I’m sorry,” 

Keiji takes a few deep breaths, the smell of Bokuto’s body wash filling his nose. It’s comforting, grounding. “No, I’m sorry,” he says, voice still slightly trembling, “You’re the one who got hurt and I’m making it about me,” 

“Now who’s being stupid?” Bokuto pulls away, moving his hands to Keiji’s face. He takes off the man's glasses and wipes away a tear with his thumb, “I’m sorry I worried you, and I’m sorry you had to run down four flights of stairs in those expensive shoes, and I’m sorry that you’re going to be stuck with me in our apartment for the next two weeks, but it’s just a strain. I’m okay. We’re okay. We’re going to be okay,” 

“But what if it happens again? What if it’s worse next time?” 

“Then we’ll get through it, together. No matter what, I’ll still have you.” 

Akaashi looks into his boyfriend’s kind, adoring eyes and cries harder. 

Some 20 minutes later, Keiji is sure there’s no tears left in his body. The pair had leaned back against the headboard at some point, with Akaashi curled up under Kotaro’s arm, head resting on his muscled chest. 

“Hey, does this mean I get out of cleaning the bathroom tomorrow?” the spiker asks. 

Akaashi rolls his eyes but feels himself smile softly, “You can scrub the floor sitting down,” 

“Ah,” he says, defeated, “so close… What about cooking?”

Keiji scoffs, “It’s not like you do much of that anyway,”

“How dare you,” he says, feigning offense, “I chop vegetables all the time,” 

“Yeah and you’re really slow and sloppy about it,” 

He doesn’t have to look up to know exactly which pouty face the man is making. He’s silent for a few minutes, no doubt plotting some sort of comeback. “Okay but what about… you know…” his tone has a familiar sultriness to it. He runs a teasing hand across Keiji’s thigh just to get his point across. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Akaashi says, slapping his hand away.

“It was just a question Keiji,” he says with a fake innocence.

“Mhm,” Akaashi nuzzles into his chest, pulling him closer. He is okay. They were okay. They will be okay. “Hey Bo?”

“Hm?”

“Please don’t get hurt again,”

Bokuto pulls him closer, kissing the top of his head. “For you Keiji, I’ll do my best,”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)
> 
> Title is from 'Belong' by San Fermin 
> 
> Come yell about haikyuu with me! @nononoya on Tumblr


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